Previously On

Thursday, January 26, 2012

My daily commute is 45 minutes each way. I hate it. It adds 1.5 hours on to the work day, it's long and boring and I'd rather just get home to my family. But for the last 6 weeks, that commute has been my saving grace. Because that's when I cry.

On the morning on Dec. 12 - not long after I announced here that I was pregnant - I woke up and knew something wasn't right. Without going into details, it wasn't long before there was a reason to call my obstetrician. That afternoon, I was in her office, having an internal ultrasound.

A minute or so in, I asked the question: "Do you see a heartbeat?" My doctor very kindly told me that I was jumping ahead of her.

I laid back and stared at the ceiling. My husband was there but we couldn't find a sitter on short notice and our daughter was not cooperating so I had asked him to take her out of the room.

There was a poster on the ceiling of a kitten in a field that said "Put it in God's hands." I stared just to the side of the poster, forcing myself not think about why an OB-GYN would hang it there. I kept quiet, mostly because I didn't trust my voice to come if I opened my mouth. I didn't know what I would say anyway. I had already asked what I needed to know and she couldn't answer.

After a few minutes, my doctor turned the screen to me and spoke. "Here's the baby," she said, pointing. I looked at the screen. It was so small. Almost the exact same size as the last time I was there two weeks earlier, I found out.

Finally I found my voice again. I said "Did you see a heartbeat?"

"No, I didn't."

"He's gone isn't he?"

I don't even know what she said next. It wasn't really important. Two weeks before, there was a heartbeat. If there wasn't now, I knew what it meant.

I started sobbing. I asked for my husband. I stopped sobbing because I wanted out of there as fast as I could get out, I wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere where the news we had just gotten wasn't echoing around the room.

The baby had stopped growing at almost the same size as our last ultrasound, so sometime around then was when his heart stopped beating. When our child died. And then I carried him for two more weeks, blissfully ignorant of his passing, thrilled and finally relaxing in this pregnancy now that we knew we had seen a heartbeat.

I cried for four days and miscarried at home. Eventually life resumed. I got out of bed, went back to work. Somewhere along the way I stopped crying, pregnancy test stopped turning positive, and my doctor gave us the okay to try again in three months - if we wanted to.

We'll try again. That wasn't really a question. We want more kids, we want Lea to have siblings to grow up with. I'm terrified, and I'm sure he is too but the one thing I am sure of is that if we don't try, we will never have a healthy baby. Hopefully if we do, we'll add to our family soon.

On my way home today, I listened to the radio because my husband had the I-pod and forgot to gave it back to me. I heard a song by Gavin DeGraw (who apparently is still making music. Who knew? Good for you buddy!)

If you ask me how I'm doingI would say I'm doing just fineI would lie and say that you're not on my mindBut I go out, and I sit down at a table set for twoAnd finally I'm forced to face the truthNo matter what I say I'm..Not over you,Not over you

This is where I am now. People ask me all the time how I am and I smile. And I say I'm fine. The truth is I miss my baby every single second of every single day. Every time I see or hear about another pregnancy, I feel a stab and wonder why mine had to end.

Not long after the miscarriage, I told my husband that I needed the baby to have a name. I needed him to be someone other than the baby (although truthfully, we don't even know for sure he was a he).

And so we named him. He's Jack.

Jack, I love you more than you'll ever know, sadly. I wish we had had more time and it's cruel that we didn't. It's cruel that your father and I never got to meet you or hold you or kiss you. We will always miss you and love you and wish you were here with us but you'll always be a part of us, a part of our family. I love you baby. To the moon and back.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

This is hard to say but I'm going to have to just come right out and say it.

I know you've been wondering. You've probably even wanted to ask me. And to spare you any more wondering, I'm going to go ahead and admit it: I've been ignoring you.

There, I said it. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to hurt your feelings, I didn't meant to make you feel neglected and ignored. And this time it really isn't you. It's me. All me.

See, I've been keeping a secret from you and I hate keeping secrets. I'm no good at keeping my own secrets, mostly because it requires too much to keep track of in a brain already filled with the plots of way too many mystery books and convoluted television shows and the lyrics to entirely too many songs I would absolutely deny knowing if you asked me.

But now we're ready to share our secret, so I'm back. And our secret it:

I'm pregnant!

Yep, baby #2 (henceforth known as Peanut) is on the way and expected to arrive in mid-July. I'm excited. The husband's excited. Lea's even excited although she has no idea why and probably wouldn't be if she knew it meant she'd have to share her parents, pets, toys and (possibly) clothes with someone else for the next 18 years.

Whew. I am so glad I finally got that off my chest. And now, back to blogging!

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Am I the only one who thinks so? I can't be the only one who thinks so.

As I was watching what I expected to be last night's triumphant return after the World Series, I found myself thinking "Clearly Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk are just putting every good thought they have into American Horror Story and Glee is getting whatever's left at the end of the day."

I love Glee. I have since the beginning. My husband and I own about 90 percent of the songs from season one and two and I listen to them on my 45-minute commute probably 4 out of 5 days of the week. Lea and I danced to a song from the Glee Rocky Horror Show at least once a day for all of November 2010. She loves the Time Warp, FYI.

But this season, we've downloaded maybe three songs total. The shows have been okay. A few have even been good. But overall, it's all falling flat for me.

Unfortunately, it's all part of a problem Glee has struggled with since it's inception: An inability to balance. They are always too heavy-handed in one direction: particular story themes, certain characters, certain types of music, etc. Luckily for me over the last couple of seasons it's been characters I like or themes I'm interested in, so I didn't mind too much. Sure, there were a couple plot lines I just couldn't buy into, like, say, Finn being able to forgive Quinn for lying to him about being the teenage father of her baby when she cheated with his best friend but he can't forgive Rachel for making out with same best friend. But, the music was fun so I could overlook it.

But now it's not. Now it seems like it's all show tunes and while I like show tunes, I want a little more variety. The story lines are "Eh." Not really believable - why would Rachel run for student body president against Kurt and Brittany when she knows no one likes her after all? How can Mercedes possibly feel that she is actually entitled to solos and lead parts when she never puts any effort in to it? And why for the love of God is Quinn insane and Shelby so stupid?

But that's Glee. The things they do well, they do very well and when it's your thing they're doing, it's great. But when it's not your thing... well, it's like a weekly slushy to the face.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

I've been wanting to blog about American Horror Story for a while now. But I kept stalling, mainly because I can only ever think of one way to describe this show and my mom's going to be pissed if she ever sees it. So I put it off, waiting to think of some better, more eloquent way to say it.

And you know what? I couldn't come up with anything. Because "fucked up" is just the only way to describe this show. So here it is:

American Horror Story is fucked up.

I can't even begin to guess what aspect of the show has been the creepiest so far. The train of thought in my head goes something like this:

That guy in the black latex is just the creepiest son of a - Oh. But wait - the abortion doctor chopping up their son's body and then - Oh no, it's the home invasion in episode two. Those people were freaky and so deranged and it's definitely the home invas- oh God but remember when...

And so it goes. But the truth is that if you like horror movies, if you like to be freaked out and you like mysteries, you need to be watching this show.

It's on FX and from the guys behind Glee and the creator of Nip/Tuck. And it's like these two men got so tired of the bubblegum world of Glee, the Broadway tunes and bright colors and pop of it all and they thought "We need a place to send every single dark thought we have" and then they created American Horror Story.

The premise for the first season is a family relocates from Boston to Los Angeles, hoping to leave memories of the husband's (Dylan McDermott) infidelity and the wife's (Connie Britton) miscarriage behind. Unfortunately they move in to the single most cursed house on Earth and insanity, creepiness and, naturally, horror ensues.

One of my favorite features in the show is the way they introduce their own theories of famous Hollywood mysteries and weave them into the house's history. So far, we've seen their take on the death of Sal Mineo and reportedly later this season they'll introduce the Black Dahlia.

If you like horror, give it a shot. I've been recommending it left and right and so far, no one's been disappointed.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

In my opinion, Parenthood is the best show we watch. H would probably argue it's Community or maybe Modern Family. Before we picked up Parenthood over the summer, I would have said Dexter. But Parenthood is the one that gets me every week. It's not big or showy or flashy. It's quiet and moving but it works.

The biggest reason for that is Max. He's the son of Adam and Kristina and in the pilot episode is diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, a disorder on the autism spectrum. Max's storylines have made me laugh and made me cry. Early in the first season, a new behaviorist comes to work with Max and asks his parents what they'd like to work on. When she asks"Does he have friends and playdates?" Kristina replies "No. He doesn't really have any friends."

Gets me every damn time. And I'm usually a cynical, insensitive jerk so that's saying something.

The actor who plays Max, Max Burkholder, does a phenomenal job with the material and the show has been praised for its portrayal of autism. A lot of the credit goes to the show's creator, Jason Katims (also behind Friday Night Lights), who has a son with autism.

If you have any interest in autism or Asperger's, I really suggest checking the show out.

But Parenthood is good for many reasons beyond Max. The relationships and dynamics between all the characters are intriguing, touching and sometimes hilarious.

This season, each branch of the Braverman family tree has been dealing with something big: Kristina and Adam welcomed a new daughter, Nora. Joel and Julia made arrangements to adopt a second child after trying last season to conceive and learning they wouldn't be able to. Crosby and Jasmine are trying to figure out how to move forward as parents after ending their relationship. And Sarah's daughter, Amber, moved out on her own for the first time.

All in all, I'm enjoying the season. There have been a couple missteps, like Sarah's ex-husband showing up again and Peter Krause's Adam trying entirely too hard to be cool for his new business venture, but overall the show has maintained the elements that made it good: The mix of sad moments with hilarity and the intriguing pairing of characters you don't get to see together often like Max and Amber. If I had any complaint about the season so far, it'd be that I would like to see more interaction between the Braverman siblings, a part of the show that I've always loved.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I have watched DH from the beginning with some notable gaps. I used to love it but over the last few years it was pretty "eh" most of the time. Even bringing in the great Vanessa Williams (you'll always be Wilhelmina Slater to me) didn't give the show the life it should have.

But then there was the seventh season finale and the premise for the next season left me more than a little intrigued.

Here's the deal. Gabby revealed in season 7 that her stepfather had molested her when she was a child. Unfortunately she said his name three times in a row while sipping chardonnay which in Fairview means he's going to show up on her doorstep in about two commercial breaks.

And so he did and then Carlos killed his creepy ass. Naturally, Susan, Lynette and Bree chose this moment to go check up on Gabby and walked right in to the scene of the crime. Naturally, they all decided to hide the body, clean up and pretend it never happened because no one on Wisteria Lane ever calls the damn cops.

They also all apparently have some rare kind of amnesia. I'm not sure but somebody should check the water or something. While preparing to write this post, I realized that three of the four main housewives have been married to a man who killed someone or tried to fill someone. Remember when Bree tried to cover up her daughter's teen pregnancy by faking her own pregnancy and claiming the child as her own? Or when Susan started cleaning her house in lingerie on a webcam to pay the bills?

How do you just move on from knowing your neighbor is that kind of bat-shit crazy to coffee at the mailboxes every morning? Amnesia.

But anyway the conspiracy to cover up a murder left us with an interesting premise for the first time in years. The interactions between the housewives have always been what kept things interesting - this new tangle in the ties that bind them was sure to offer up some interesting plot lines.

And it actually has. I've enjoyed watching Carlos and Susan struggle with their guilt and I'm fairly certain Teri Hatcher gave up botox for these episodes because I haven't seen her face move like that since Lois and Clark. Lynette and Tom's divorce has been heartbreaking to watch if only because I really thought they were the Wisteria Lane couple that would last. Bree's crazy has been back full force and Gabby is back to silly storylines (PTO president? Really?) that make the best of Eva Longoria's comedic acting abilities.

Actually as I'm writing this, I find myself wishing I lived on Wisteria Lane. I could stroll across the street to have a glass of wine with the girls and since it's Wisteria Lane, no one would care that I was getting plastered at the neighbor's while my kids did God knows what.

But I'd probably be murdered by one of their husbands before I could even ring the doorbell.

Monday, October 17, 2011

I know, I know. Bad blogger. I was on a roll there and then disappeared.

However, I promise you, this time it was different from my usual "Oops, I forgot I started a blog and honestly would rather play Sims."

You see, I have been Sick. The husband has been Sick.

And worst of all, the baby bug has been Sick.

Shockingly, Lea has a pretty solid immune system. I'm not really sure. I did nurse for three months and the research suggests that would help with the immune system but I've always assumed that it depended on the mother also having an immune system.

Which I do not.

Okay, I do but it is about as effective as the pull and pray method of birth control. If I come into contact with a person with a cold, I'll end up with the cold. It's guaranteed. And every single time I get a cold, I get an ear infection. If I cough once, I'll cough a thousand more times before it's over and the CVS people will start giving my husband funny looks thanks to the amount of different types of cough syrup he's purchased for the duration.

But somehow Lea has remained fairly healthy. Sure, there have been a few colds here and there but nothing near what I expected from my friends' tales of motherhood.

I remember the first time Lea got sick. It was December of 2010 - she was about 8 months old. She had a fever and a cough and the poor thing just wanted to sleep. And so that's what she did. It was the first time since she was about 3 months old that she had slept while someone was holding her and as much as I hated to see my baby sick, it was nice to hold her like that again and for her to snuggle up with us.

Foolishly, when she started getting sick this time, I figured that things would be okay even though both the adults in the house were also sick. She'd sleep a lot and we'd cuddle when she was awake and in a couple days, we'd all be back to normal.

You're probably laughing at mynaïveté right now and I don't blame you. Why? Because you're right and I'm a moron.

A runny nose and a cough couldn't slow this kid down. She was bouncing off the walls, as usual, climbing on everything she could think of, plotting how to get every object out of her reach. Her father and I were sick as dogs and she exploited it, taking our weakness and slowness as carte blanche to wreak havoc.

So that's where I've been. Doing my best to kick this cold's ass while getting my own ass kicked by my 18-month-old. But everyone's back on the mend so I'm back and in the coming days I plan to cover Community's epic bottle episode, Secret Circle's visit from the Grim Reaper, the Braverman's newest edition on Parenthood and the latest dish from Wisteria Lane on Desperate Housewives.